All Dogs Go To Heaven
by Rightytighty
Summary: A light story centering around Trenton's favorite ex-husband, Dickie Orr. Dickie finds himself on the losing end of a battle with a delivery truck; is Salvation within his reach? Can Dickie make amends and secure his place in the afterlife? Rated K for swearing. HEA heavy!
1. Chapter 1

_**While I am not a zealot, I am a staunch believer and woman of Faith. This story is not preachy; far from it, in fact (let's just say my pastor won't hear about this one). There will be an element of spirituality in it, but it'll be fun, I promise (:**_

"Where the hell is that coffee?!" I yell, slamming my phone receiver into the cradle while closing out the screen on my computer.

Suzanne, the latest in a line of pretty secretaries, comes bustling into my office with my coffee in hand. She's flushed, her eyes only settling on me briefly before shifting away as she places the mug on my desk.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Orr, I got a client call right after you asked for it and I've been on the phone since. I only just hung up with her; another divorce referral, sir." Suzanne hurries through her apology, smoothing the fabric of her skirt over her shapely thighs while nervously shifting her weight.

I wave my hand through the air, dismissing her apology; in truth, I don't care about the coffee. What I care about is this little dish standing in front of me and keeping her on her toes, keep her trying to gauge and guess what my attitude that day would be like. That had been my game for the past three secretaries, and I'd almost perfected it. I kept a disapproving demeanor about me for the first few weeks and made sure to bark at them with little provocation; that way, I could ensure they'd begin to try and find ways to subconsciously seek my approval. It made getting them into bed almost too easy, really.

"It's fine, Susan," I say offhandedly, noting her quick frown when I purposely called her by the wrong name. "I need you to print off my court schedule for the week, get Burt Freeman from Wells Fargo on the phone and interrupt me three minutes after you put him through. I also need dinner reservations for two at il Vicino for tomorrow at 8, and I'm going to need you to reschedule my physical for some time next month; I'm up to my neck in depositions and I've got to push it back."

"Yes, sir," Suzanne mumbled before beating a hasty retreat back to her desk. _She might have the best ass of any of my secretaries yet,_ I think as I crane my neck to watch her swish out of my office. I was very much looking forward to bedding this one; she was ripe for seduction, having just divorced her own cheating husband. She's held out longer than any of my previous assistants, I'll give her that, but it's really only a matter of time – not to sound conceited, but I'm basically a catch.

My name is Richard Orr, but I go by Dickie. Makes me more personable – at least, that's what a political advisor once told me. I'd had bureaucratic aspirations years ago, well before my first marriage but those went up in smoke along with every suit I owned when my ex-wife burned them on our front lawn along with our wedding photographs. Word of my minor little indiscretion spread like a virus throughout all of Trenton and Newark and just like that, I was Public Enemy #1 as far as any government party was concerned. Cheating husbands don't fare well in the cut-throat world of politics but, lucky for me, philandering lawyers do just fine.

My practice was booming, thriving in an economy that had sucked the lifeblood from many a business owner. I have a reputation in Trenton for being ruthless and for winning cases, and it was due largely to the fact that I was a guy who knew the right people. Mob bosses, crooked judges, cops skirting the line between ethical and scumbag – they all had my number on speed dial and they all knew that Dickie Orr delivered. Alright, admittedly, I'd sold my scruples down the river ages ago and I had only a passing acquaintance with the truth but really, who was I hurting? So I got my palm greased by the odd errant cop; so what? And yeah, maybe trading job security for a little afternoon delight with my secretaries wasn't entirely on the up-and-up, but it's all part of the game. I'm playing to win and finally, _**finally**_ after years of scrounging and trying to weather the veritable shit storm from my divorce, I was on top again!

I shudder involuntarily when I think about my first and last marriage. Stephanie Michelle Plum. A second shudder ghosts down my spine and I liberate the flask I kept hidden in my desk drawer, unscrewing the top and taking a healthy swallow. The bourbon burns as it goes down, a welcome distraction from The Incident. I can't help but remember it all…

 _I'd been working a lot in those days, even more than I worked now – like I said, political aspirations and all that. Stephanie Plum, Chambersburg Princess and Golden Ticket to the image I needed to succeed in a governmental capacity, had agreed to marry me after only 4 months of dating. I played around right up to the wedding; it wasn't official yet, and sowing wild oats was a rite of passage for all born and bred Jersey boys. A few months passed and we were so busy setting up house and writing the 'thank you' notes that we really didn't spend a lot of quality time together outside of campaign parties and the bedroom, which suited me just fine. I got her a job, a cute little 9 to 5 at E.E. Martin buying ladies underpants or something – my contact for the job was in The Family (covertly, of course) and you don't ask those guys a lot of questions. All in all, I'd been doing alright._

 _Joyce Barnhart had come onto me at a restaurant while my wife had been in the bathroom, and the rest was 'Burg legend. Stephanie had come home from work early, something she never did, and caught us christening the dining table my great-aunt Mable had gifted us for the wedding. Steph had lifted Joyce by her hair off of me and dragged her to the front yard before she came back for me. Lucky for me, I'd become acquainted with my wife's temper and beat feet out the back while she was dragging Joyce out the front. Not so lucky was the fact that I failed to take into consideration that a woman scorned holds nothing sacred, and so I'd taken a public beating and come out the other side discredited, broke and with almost zero job prospects._

I shake my head, pulling myself out of my reverie and glance at the fancy clock on my desk. With only half an hour before I was due to leave, I decided to indulge in one of my favorite vices – I call my mole.

Benny Gaspick held the well-earned distinction of being the biggest dick on the police force in Trenton. He issued tickets discriminately and wasn't above taking a bribe to look the other way. He also hated Stephanie Plum with a passion, and had ever since she discovered the whereabouts of Moses 'Uncle Mo' Bedemier and provided information that led to his arrest - an arrest that Picky felt _he_ should've been given credit for since he made the initial arrest on the carrying concealed charge. And so, on occasion we like to get together and indulge in a little Plum bashing. I think it did both of us a world of good, and honestly, it was nice to bring Miss Holier-Than-Thou down a peg from time to time.

Gaspick answered his personal cell after the second ring with a sneer in his voice. "Yeah?"

I roll my eyes and rock back in my chair, already bored with his shitty attitude and feed him the line that I know will get me the information I'm after. "It's Orr. Just calling to see what the latest is with Trenton's First Couple."

He chuckles darkly. "They're off. Morelli went apeshit on her at the scene last night and she dumped him in front of the whole force. Another car bombing."

With a grunt and a mean grin I rocked back a bit further, positively giddy at Stephanie Plum's misfortune. "You call in another tip to the dark side and let the skip know she was on her way again, Picky?"

His mirthless chuckle bleeds through the line with enough animosity behind it to give me a chill. "Bitch needs to keep her fucking nose out of police business. She thinks she invincible because she's balling Morelli and Ranger; I'm just helping her maintain touch with reality. I'm sick of her poking around in ongoing investigations to get a lead on some dirtbag that's gonna nab her $50 and compromise **my** leads!" He was gearing up for another rant, so I fake an incoming call and disconnect. I mean, I know I've got issues but Picky is a few apples short of a bushel. Not only does he dislike Stephanie, he's actively gunning for her. I shudder to think what'll happen to him if Ranger or Morelli ever find out he's feeding info on her whereabouts to her skips so they can go on the offensive before she finds them.

Ah, well, all's well that ends well, right? And with that thought I shake off my call with Picky, my musings on the end of my marriage to Stephanie Plum and the pang I always get when I think of my wasted political aspirations and stand to gather my things for the trip home.

Once my briefcase is packed and I've got my coat over my arm, I venture out of my office and stop by Suzanne's desk. I glower at her, secretly enjoying the way she seems to shrink under my glare before I remind her sternly that she was almost late this morning and not to let it happen again. I hide my smirk until I step onto the elevator that'll take me to the parking garage, and nod at the paralegal my partner employs. He's a sanctimonious little shit, always looking down his rather long nose at me, and today is no exception.

"'Almost late'? Doesn't that technically mean 'on time', Mr. Orr?" His intonation reeks of disapproval and frankly, I couldn't care less. In the grand scheme of things, this little turd is nothing. I roll my eyes and discreetly but deliberately raise my hand to scratch my nose with my middle finger, staring him down, daring him to say something else as the elevator slows and stops. The 'ding' alerts us that we've arrived on the garage level.

He gapes at me, open-mouthed and in shock as I flip him my favorite hand gesture before I step smoothly off the elevator and saunter to my car – that's right, I saunter! Why the hell wouldn't I? I'm rich, I drive an Infinity, I've got a date later with Nanette the yoga instructor and I just got the last word with that little prick paralegal who can't mind his own business.

 _It's a good day to be me._

* * *

I make my way out of the industrial park where my office is located, zipping in and out of traffic as I make my way across town. I've got a very specific destination in mind, and I've got precious little time to waste before my evening out with Nanette.

I pull to a stop a block from 'Pleasure Treasures' and slide my sunglasses into place, adjust the ball cap I keep in my car and remove my suit jacket, replacing it with a Devils jacket and zipping it to my chin. With as much stealth as I can manage I cross the street and make my way to the shop, mindful of each passing car and foreign sound. Across the street is a tree-lined fence running the length of the block, and it takes me a moment to register what it is – a middle school baseball field.  
The sound of parents cheering for their snot-nosed spawn as they play a mediocre (at best) game of pickup is irritating but it masks the sound of my shoes on the pavement nicely.

I enter the store, giving only a covert nod to the old lady working the register as I b-line for the ass aisle. Nanette lets me do things to her that would send Stephanie Plum into a conniption, and I plan to make the most of this evening.

With a bag laden with new toys I slip out of the store and head back toward my car, whipping out my cell phone to text Nanette and let her know what I've got planned for her after dinner; chicks love that kind of shit!

Head down as I cross the street, grinning at the little bubble on my phone and anticipating what her response would be, I don't even notice the delivery truck until it's inches from my face.

* * *

Awareness bleeds slowly into my conscious and I groan, remembering the fleeting image of a truck barreling toward me as I cross the street with attention on my phone. _Smooth, Dickie, real smooth_ , I think as I flex and check for injuries.

Huh. For having just been hit by a huge truck, I feel pretty good. I stretch and sit up slowly, taking inventory. I feel…great. Like I just woke from a nap. And with that unsettling realization, I raise my eyes and take stock of my surroundings.

At first I'm confused; a field? With no houses? In the middle of Jersey? Such a thing does not exist! My next immediate thought was to wonder who the hell dumped me in this field, followed by wondering, out loud, "Where the Hell am I?"

"You're not anywhere near Hell," a voice behind me intones, and I just about jump out of my skin. Spinning, fists up, I prepare myself for any number of scenarios…except for the one that greets me.

A man, about 30, stands before me. Tall and lean, with a head full of black hair and the bluest eyes I've ever seen is standing with his arms crossed and looking at me in an appraising way, rocking back on the heels of his cowboy boots. He's got no weapons on him, no phone, and as far as I can see (and I can see pretty far), there's not a car in sight, nothing to indicate how we got all the way out here. I'm lost, totally lost, and I have no frigging clue what's going on.

"What the fuck is this!?" I can feel myself moving from confused to mad really fast – I don't know who this mook is, but I'm Richard friggin' Orr! I'm owed enough favors by the people who make up the underbelly of Trenton that this guy should be tinkling in his tighty whities by now. I open my mouth to tell him as much when he rolls his eyes and says, "'Tighty whities'? Come on, that's a little juvenile, don't you think?"

I freeze, my mind going blank – I didn't say that part out loud, right? That was all in my head, wasn't it? My crazy ex had this annoying habit of not knowing when she was muttering the trash that ran through her brain out loud for all and sundry to hear…surely that's what had happened. I mean, it's the only logical explanation.

Sinatra-eyes raised a finger and a single eyebrow and spoke again. "Or, maybe the mook standing in front of you knows what you're thinking, Dickie. That thought ever cross your mind?"

I feel, actually _feel_ my brain shut down. Sort of like saying, _hasta la vista, Dickie Boy!_ and then I can't even form a single thought. I just stand, mouth open, and stare at the man standing in front of me.

He takes me in for a moment before sighing and muttering, "I guess that _was_ a bit much, eh?" and takes a step toward me. That snaps me out of whatever stupor I was under and I can feel my heart rate ratchet up a few notches as I scramble to put some space between us. This, this whole thing…the truck, the field, the weird dude in the ugly boots…it's too much. It's just too fucking much.

"Hey!" His voice snaps me out of my panic-induced haze and I meet his eyes for the first time in a few very long minutes. "These boots are primo! They're hand-stitched leather, made by the same company that supplies the leather for Rolls Royce!" His glare isn't the least bit menacing, but the fact that he picked up on the stream of words running through my head makes cold fear grip me. At this point, I think I'd welcome a fainting spell.

With a shrug, Pretty Boy says, "No can do, Dickie. There's no fainting here. Sorry." The last part didn't sound particularly sincere, but at the moment I didn't give a particular shit. I need answers, fast, before I head for the nearest rubber room and check myself in.

I try to speak, to demand answers, but my lips are trembling so bad all that comes out is a garbled grunt. Pretty Boy waves a hand across his front, and lo and behold! The shaking stops. I try to ignore just how creepy-crawly that makes me feel, clear my throat and speak.

"Who are you? Why am I here? Where the Hell _is_ here?"

With a stern look and a frown, my companion levels me with a stare. "First of all, don't call me 'Pretty Boy'. I'm also not fond of 'mook', but I _did_ enjoy 'Sinatra-eyes'." I can only nod; I have the feeling this moo…uh, this guy isn't in a big hurry, but I want answers so I'll play his game for now.

With a nod, he says, "Smart."

It's like a kick to the gut. He's been hearing, reading, I dunno, _whatever_ the fuck he's doing, since I woke up but it's still not any less weird. I bite my lip and nod for him to continue.

He grins before he continues. "So, to answer your questions: One, I'm Gabriel. Lovely to meet you."

I bite harder and nod again, stiffly, holding my breath and hoping he gets on with it.

He eyeballs me again and grins knowingly before continuing. "Two, you're here because this is my idea of a Utopia. Perfect weather, gentle breeze blowing the grass…if you hike about ten minutes that way," he turns and gestures to his left, "there's a really beautiful lake with a dock and a rowboat. But no ducks! I don't like ducks. They're creepy, all the flapping and squawking, and they poop _everywhere_!" He shudders theatrically before continuing. "I brought you here because it's peaceful and there are no distractions."

He looks at me and he morphs in the span of two seconds. I don't mean literally, like some crappy Japanamation cartoon or something, but the nice-guy demeanor is gone. In front of me stands a man, seemingly taller than he was a moment ago, self assured and serious. His eyes aren't playful anymore; now, they're grave, darker in color and his expression is solemn. He draws in a breath before continuing.

"Third: 'here' isn't Hell. You aren't anywhere close to Hell…not yet, anyway. You're in Heaven, Dickie."

 _ **This is my second foray into FanFiction; I've been meaning to start this story for some time now, and had a fire lit under me recently with a review for my first story asking what happened to the planned #2? I had loads of fun the first time around and I'm very excited to dip my feet back into the literary pool!**_

 _ **Many thanks to my FanFiction editor, Elaine. I owe the fact that this is legible to her discerning eye.**_


	2. Chapter 2

" _You're in Heaven, Dickie….you're in Heaven, Dickie…you're in Heaven…"_

Gabriel's words echo, over and over as I reel, trying to make sense of what he's saying. Heaven? There's no way this could be Heaven! For one, there's no clouds or Gates or Angels or…or…or ANYTHING I thought there'd be! And while it's true that my Catholicism only rears it's head during the Midnight Mass I attend with my mother every Christmas, I'm pretty friggin' sure I'd _remember_ the part that said I'd have to spend eternity in some scrubby patch of weeds with a strange guy wearing cowboy boots, of all things! No, there had to be some mistake – my idea of Heaven includes a lot more women than I currently see present (none) and a lot more amenities than I see available (also none).

A sudden thought occurs to me and I spin until I'm facing the schlomo who brought me here. "I'm **DEAD**?!" I screech at him. I can feel the last vestige of glue holding me together come undone and I howl and curse and swear until I'm out of breath and on my knees. I can't think beyond this moment, this sudden feeling of loss; if this is Heaven (and a shoddy one at that), then I'm actually _dead_. My life is over. It's a huge concept to try and grasp, and one I'm not willing to accept.

 _Okay, so I'm dead…says who? This buttercup with the man-heels on? There's got to be someone else I can talk to about this, an appeals process or something! He can't be the final word on whether I live or die!_

"You're right, Dickie-boy," Gabriel's voice intones. There's a bit of empathy in it, and that only strengthens my resolve to get out of this mess. "You **are** dead. That delivery truck creamed you while you were crossing the street, and one big splat later, you landed here. And you can forget about any 'appeal', my friend. The Big Man doesn't trade favors with men who are on their Last Chance."

Now _that_ catches my attention. "Last chance?"

Gabriel bobs his head in a solitary nod. " _Last_ Last Chance." He gestures toward a picnic table I'm almost positive wasn't there a few minutes ago and says, politely, "Sit." I notice it's not a question, but I need to get to the bottom of this mess and get it straightened out so I can get back to my life, so I sit.

Gabriel joins me and folds his hands together before looking at me. "So here's the deal," he begins.

"When a person dies on Earth, they're judged on a lot of things; their faith, their actions, their reactions to those actions, a whole mess of stuff, really." He waves his hand wide, and I swear I see little sparks trailing from his fingertips. Before I can address it, he plows ahead with his explanation.

" _Some_ people do really rotten things that they don't atone for while they're still in their Earthly body." Here he glares pointedly at me and I feel my hackles rise.

"What?! I never hurt any…well, I mean, _maybe_ I could've been a little more, I dunno, nicer or more honest but hey, I was basically a decent person!" Even as I'm protesting, I don't believe it. Dozens of little snippets of my life flash through my memory, and as I raise my eyes to meet Gabriel's and I recall that he can read said thoughts with perfect clarity, I cringe. With a resigned sigh, I nod at him. "Go on."

"So," he continues, "every so often The Man In Charge decides to take a page out of his Son's book and offer a chance for Redemption; that, Dickie Orr, is where your Last Chance comes in, and that is also where I come in."

I chew over that for a moment before speaking. "That makes you, what…an Angel? An Angel named Gabriel?"

Gabriel grinned and made the international symbol for a gun with his thumb and forefinger, firing off a shot at me. "Got it in one, Dickster. I mean, I'm not _that_ Gabriel or anything, but that's the basic gist."

I consider what he's told me so far, and I'm more than a little surprised that I'm actually considering what he's saying. Huh. He must see (or hear) my inner turmoil because he decides to impart a last nugget on me.

He leans forward, and for the first time in a while he grins and looks more like the goofy kid and less like the intimidating Legion he's been portraying. "It's like this – you get a shot. One shot to right a wrong you did, and to do it BIG. If you can do that, you get into Heaven. If you fail…well, let's just say I hope you packed your sunscreen."

I think I schvitzed a little there for a minute because the next thing I was conscious of was the grass under my body and the clear blue sky above me. I looked around and gave a little scream when I saw Gabriel, lying inches from my face with his hands behind his head and a peaceful smile on his lips.

"All right there, Dick?" he asks, not turning his head to meet my eyes. In a way, I'm grateful – no man likes to fall apart in front of another man. It was okay of Gabriel to give me that respect.

"Yeah."

After a few minutes of reflection, I broach the topic from a different angle.

"So, not to sound ungrateful or anything, but this isn't exactly my idea of Heaven."

Gabriel laughs, a real belly laugh that fills the space we're in and warms the space in my chest. My heart. It warmed my heart, okay?! Yeesh, it's not a big friggin' deal.

"Ah, I forget what it's like! Life down there; everything is so singular." Gabriel sounds a little wistful, and I wonder what that crap's about; isn't Heaven supposed to be better than anything we've got 'down there'?

"Heaven, Dickie, isn't one place. There's all kinds of Heaven, just like there are all kinds of people." I roll my head toward him and give him a skeptical look, which he returns a patronizing smile.

"Consider this: every person He created, he gifted them free will. Think about that, about how amazing that is! The ability to choose, to base your choices around a moral code of your choosing, Dickie, isn't something that is afforded any of His other creatures – that is solely reserved for Man. My Heaven isn't yours; we've established that already. Why should you reside in a place you don't love? He lets us choose in life, and in Eternity, it makes sense that those who are worthy would get to choose, too. This is my choice, and if you're found worthy, you'll get to choose as well."

I consider my next move carefully; sure, Rodeo Gabe here says there's no appeal process, but it can't hurt to make sure, can it?

Shooting for nonchalance, I stage my next question carefully. "How do you know I'm really dead?"

Again, Gabriel laughs, loud and hearty, before he exclaims, "Other than the fact that you're in Heaven? Come on, Orr, that's weak, coming from the slimiest lawyer in Trenton…and that's saying something."

"Slimy!" I yelp, sitting up and glaring at him. "I wasn't 'slimy'! I did what needed to be done! Okay, so maybe sometimes it fell in a morally gray area – "

"'Morally gray'! Is that how you slept at night? You bribed cops! You did favors for the mob! You cheated and lied and broke virtually every Commandment, Dickie. You should be on your knees, thanking Him that you didn't go hurtling south of the pavement you got smashed on when you died!" Fun, nice Gabriel was gone. This Gabriel looks like someone I maybe don't wanna meet in a dark alley without my throw-down piece.

"Okay, okay! Geez, sorry, I didn't realize you were so touchy about that stuff. Look, all I'm saying is that if there's a chance, even a shot in He- uh, in heck, I wanna take it! Can we just, I dunno…double-check or something? I mean, no system is infallible, right?" I give myself a mental pat on the back; it's solid reasoning, right? I mean, who knows – this could all be a big mistake and then I can get back to my life, maybe do things right this time around!

Gabriel just rolls his eyes at me and shakes his head. "If I show you, _prove_ to you that you're dead, do you agree to drop this and move on? We've still got quite a bit of ground to cover and a finite amount of time to do it in, you know."

Inside, I'm cheering – this is it! My ticket home! All I've got to do is play this just right and get someone up here to hit the 'reset' button on this day!

"Yeah, sure, no problem." I can feel the grin splitting my face, and it earns me another 'Burg worthy eye roll from the Angel.

"All right, but don't say I didn't warn you," he intones before he lifts both hands and waves them.

A shower of sparks, brighter and more lucid than any I've ever seen, fill my vision and I squeeze my eyes shut. When I blink, I'm standing on a familiar street in a familiar town.

"Thank the LORD!" I shout as I quickly take stock of the situation. I can see my car, right where I left it in the lot, and the big delivery truck from Neiman's is off to the side of the road with its hazard lights on. I try to ignore the cop cars gathered (or more specifically, the sheeted form lying on the street) and instead turn my attention toward Gabriel.

"So, how do I do this? Do I need to like, run and dive into my, uh, body for this to work?" I ask, rubbing my hands over my pants legs. I'm not sweating exactly, but I feel anxious and nervous and like my heart's about to fall out of my butt or something.

Gabriel just tosses his head back and laughs! At me! I'm having a friggin' heart attack here and he's LAUGHING at me!

It takes him a minute to compose himself and I'll be the first to admit, I'm pouting. Like, full on, arms crossed, teeth clenched, ignoring him. The jerk.

"Sorry!" he wheezes, not sounding the least bit sorry. "I just forget how skewed Man's vision of this whole process can be sometimes. People take a good idea and they warp it and mold it to something marketable and then they slap a price tag on it and sell it to the masses. Ah! 'Run and dive', the guys'll love that!" He mutters the last part to himself. Great! Now I'll be a laughing stock amongst God's soldiers, just what I needed to cap this day off.

I wave him off and try to get him back on task. "All right, all right, you've made your point – just tell me what I have to do now!"

With a single shoulder shrug, Gabriel manages to look bored and irritated when he says, "Nothing. There's nothing you _can_ do, I've already told you this. You're here, but you're not _here_. No one can see you, hear you, sense you…you just don't exist on this plane anymore. I didn't bring you here to instill false hope, Dickie; we're here to show you, once and for all, that your Mortal life has ended. I think you need the closure because honestly, you're not taking this very well."

I can only gape at him, struck dumb, as he ushers me over to the scene. I bite back all the comments that are on the tip of my tongue (though I do make sure to think them really, really loud) and allow Gabriel to steer me closer to the uniforms standing huddled together.

"…driver said he walked right out in front of the truck. Guy's got a pristine driving record, I'm inclined to believe it was just a tragic accident." The fire marshal was standing slightly apart from the rest of the crew, overseeing the evidence gathering operation. I swallow, hard – these are the men who have come to recover my dead body. The thought is sobering and sickening.

"I think you're right." It's Morelli, the cop who's been needling my ex-wife for the past few years. He looks bored, like he's ten minutes past his limit here. "I'm going to rule out homicide, and that means I'm leaving this party early. Gentlemen, good luck with this." He bobs his head toward the group before turning to leave.

Another cop, this one in uniform, calls behind him, "Hey, Morelli, you gonna call Steph and let her know? I know they aren't close or anything, but it is her ex-husband."

Without turning around, Morelli throws back over his shoulder, "Nah. She'll hear about it soon enough," before he climbs into a non-descript POS and pulls away.

"What a toerag!" I yell, throwing my hands out in frustration. "Like he's too _busy_ to break the news to someone?! Like the fact that I was cut down in the prime of my _life_ doesn't warrant a phone call?! Unbelievable!"

Gabriel allows one corner of his mouth to dip as he winces, and I just know he's about to feed me some cock-and-bull touchy/feely crap so I hold my hand out in front of me and grind out, "Not. Another. Word." before I make my way closer to the remaining cops.

A young kid, a rookie by the looks of it, approaches the group from the opposite side I approach from. He looks a little pale and out of place, and I wonder briefly what's got him so flustered before I turn my attention back to the chatter.

"Um, excuse me, Lieutenant?" Junior interrupts the _very_ stimulating conversation these morons were having about whether or not Stiva would be able to salvage my face for an open casket (apparently, I have road rash something awful). "I'm bagging evidence and, well, there's a few things I can't label. I'm not, uh, really sure what they are."

Realization hits me like a ton of bricks. "No!" I turn and grab Gabriel's shoulders and start hustling him toward the spot in the street we appeared in, raking my hands through thin air, looking desperately for a door or a curtain, _something_ to get us out of the immediate vicinity and away from the conversation that's about to take place. "I get it, I get it, I'm dead, 86'd, I am no more, now let's get on with that meeting so you can tell me how to redeem myself, eh, Gabe?" I'm babbling and I know it, but I have GOT to get this Angel away from here.

Gabriel, of course, is having none of it. "Wait, stop! I thought you wanted to eaves drop a while lon- _oh. Oh my…."_ and I know, just know by his tone that he's caught onto my game.

I drop his arm and raise my hands to my head, pulling my hair straight out. "They're not for me! **I** wasn't going to use them! I bought them for this girl I was supposed to have a date with tonight, she's really into all that shit…" I keep trying to explain the contents of the Pleasure Treasures bag lying next to my inert body, but the cops have already began pulling out the contents and Gabriel just stands and stares in horrified fascination. Wands, rubber probes, plugs, lube…virtually the entire contents of the ass aisle at Pleasure Treasures. From the looks the cops were slinging back and forth, I had absolutely no doubt that the details of my final purchase were about to become part of the 'Burg lexicon.

Defeated, I drop my arms, and it is this move that snaps Gabriel out of the trance he was in. Looking anywhere but at each other, we walk back to the spot we appeared from and Gabriel does his sparky wave again, whisking us away.


	3. Chapter 3

We arrive back in Gabriel's Heaven in a shower of sparks and an air of discomfort. I'm embarrassed – mortified, really – so when Gabriel clears his throat and changes the topic I'm relieved and grateful.

"Now that you're indisputably deceased, we need to move forward with the next phase," he explains as he settles down beneath a looming oak tree. I pick a place and fold myself down onto the soft grass and resign myself to take what Gabriel has to say seriously. I mean, what do I have to lose at this point?

"As an Angel – _your_ Angel – it's my duty to guide you through the process of gaining your Redemption. And since we know God has a sense of humor, He has chosen a very special task for you to complete."

I'm not going to lie – I'm worried. I did a lot of not-so-nice things in my life. I never spent much time reflecting on them because, honestly, they didn't really affect me. So with a gulp and a nod, I motion Gabriel to continue.

"Dickie, your Divine mission is to make amends to Stephanie Plum."

You ever see those old Bugs Bunny cartoons? Remember when Sylvester or Wile E. Coyote would get conked on the head and the little birds would fly around their noggin? I'm not positive, but I'm fairly certain that something along those lines was happening to me right now.

It took me a minute to get my feet back under me and find my voice, but Gabriel cut me off before I could even finish my first sentence of protest.

"Listen, Dickie, this isn't up for discussion. You can't just pick one rotten thing out of a long line and choose to make up for that; you don't get to just replace Mary Jo Oldfather's balloon animal from 3rd grade because you popped it, or reimburse the investors you ripped off on behalf of the mob and get into Heaven. You do what the Father tells you or He rescinds the offer, end of discussion."

The gravity of what Gabriel is telling me begins to settle and for the first time, I allow the situation to sink in. I'm dead and in my afterlife, I'm being charged with a Holy Mission to make some sort of reparations for an injustice I laid on a fellow human being. That, I can stomach. What I'm finding a little hard to reconcile is the fact that I've got to do my crazy ex-wife a good turn or I'm going to Hell for all eternity.

Now that I'm in this 'better place', reflection comes a bit easier for me than it did when I was alive. I get it, I get it…I was a louse of a husband, but there's worse things, right? I mean, in the long list of things I've done that are damnable, I'm having a hard time understanding why _this_ was the thing that stood out. There's about a million things I'd rather make up to a million people than to help Stephanie Plum with _anything_ …but then, maybe that's the point. Maybe God the Father decided I needed a lesson in humility, too.

 _If that_ _'_ _s the case, He couldn_ _'_ _t have picked a better tool than my ex-wife_ , I think as I scrub my palm over my face. With a groan, I roll my eyes just as Gabriel barks out a laugh.

"That's the spirit! That eyeroll is the very essence of Stephanie, and we're going to work on getting to know her so we can get down to business!" he crows in something like jubilation. Hopefully he'll forgive me for not joining in the merriment.

I huff and grumble, "I already know Stephanie. That's how I know I don't like her, Angel."

Gabriel looks at me with something akin to pity and says, "No, Dickie, you don't. I don't think you ever cared to _really_ know Stephanie in the first place, and that was a huge part of your problem. But I digress; let's move forward and we'll tackle this one step at a time, eh?"

He hops up and pulls me to my feet, then claps his hands together and begins speaking again.

"First, we're going to do some reconnaissance; you are sorely lacking in understanding and empathy where the weaker sex is concerned,Orr, and we're going to remedy that today!" Gabriel seems excited, eager even, to begin this. My reaction is more along the lines of 'running sprints in freshman P.E.', but it is what it is so I plod over to him and wave him on.

"Okay, first thing's first – you need a dose of reality. We're going to hop backward a bit to kind of help refresh your memory on the dynamic you two had. I'll be the first to admit, it's a little Dickins-esqe, but it's proven effective in the past so we're going with it. Ready?"

I have no idea what he's faffing on about so I just nod and close my eyes, resigned to my fate.

I hear, rather than see,the crackling sparkle as he flashes us to our next destination. I open my eyes and gasp, loud and involuntary, at the scene.

It's a college dorm apartment, indistinct in its drab institutional feel and brightened only by a few personal items: a colorful bedspread, a few throw pillows and a pair of small shelves holding framed photographs and small tchotchkes. It's completely standard and nondescript, in fact, with the exception of the small Linda Carter Wonder Woman Barbie-type doll propped up on a little metal hanger. I raise my trembling hand to my mouth and wipe it, shaking my head and blinking my eyes rapidly to clear them as I try to find my voice.

"This…this looks a _lot_ like…"

"Stephanie's old college dorm room? That's because it is," Gabriel sing-songs from behind me. "Surprise! We're going to visit here for a bit, in the hopes that you can begin to see where you veered off course."

I turned around to argue the point, but the words dried up on my tongue because just as I was about to let loose a stream of abuse, the door opened and Stephanie breezed in, followed closely by…well, by me.

We were a decade younger, but it was us. I remember this room, I remember the leather riding jacket that belonged to me, now wrapped snuggly around Stephanie Plum. A quick glance at her left hand tells me that yep, we're engaged in whatever place in time we're sitting at now. Holy shit. I'm completely transfixed and gobsmacked by the scene, and I can only lean against the wall as I watch it play out before me.

" _Come on, Steph, we_ _'_ _re getting married in 2 months! What_ _'_ _s the big deal if we move in together a little early? We_ _'_ _re adults, it_ _'_ _s not like our mothers can ground us!_ _"_ _Dickie is wheedling, trying to tempt Stephanie into giving in while copping a feel of her ass. She swats his hands away and whirls on him, glaring._

" _Yeesh, Dickie, keep it in your pants for like, two minutes! I_ _'_ _ve told you before, I don_ _'_ _t want to live with you before we_ _'_ _re married_ _–_ _I_ _'_ _m not a virgin, my parents aren_ _'_ _t exactly_ _'_ _giving me away_ _'…_ _that_ _'_ _s one piece of tradition I want to uphold. Otherwise, there_ _'_ _s nothing special left for our marriage._ _"_ _The last part is spoken quietly, beseechingly. She is trying to appeal to his sense of chivalry, not having realized yet that it doesn_ _'_ _t exist. Dickie sighs; he knows he_ _'_ _s not going to gain any ground with her now, at least not by the normal routes. Instead, his eyes settle on her Wonder Woman doll and inspiration strikes._

 _He shoots for nonchalance._ _"_ _I guess I should_ _'_ _ve realized you wouldn_ _'_ _t want to live with me. You_ _'_ _ve still got dolls up in your dorm room, for crying out loud. Doesn_ _'_ _t exactly scream_ _'_ _mature woman_ _'_ _, does it?_ _"_

I cringe inwardly, hating that Gabriel is seeing a very private moment where I maybe wasn't my best self.

 _Stephanie looks a bit crestfallen._ _"_ _Dickie! That_ _'_ _s not fair! I_ _'_ _ve always loved Wonder Woman, you know that! Ever since I was a little girl-_ _"_

 _Dickie rolls his eyes and waves his hand in front of Stephanie_ _'_ _s face, effectively cutting her off._ _"_ _Maybe it_ _'_ _s time you let go of little girl things, Steph. Maybe if you embraced being a woman and put away these little toys, you_ _'_ _d be more ready to move forward with our life together! I mean, come on_ _…_ _what grown woman keeps dolls on display in her room?! You_ _'_ _re never going to fly, you_ _'_ _re never going to be Wonder Woman, but you_ _ **can**_ _be my partner in life; aren_ _'_ _t I good enough for you?_ _"_

 _Stephanie_ _'_ _s eyes, widened in shock at his tirade, drop to her shoes. Shame mixes with uncertainty and paints her face, and when she finally speaks again her voice is subdued._

" _Okay. I_ _'_ _ll move in._ _"_

Shit. I'd all but forgotten this little scene; in truth, I didn't much care that Stephanie still had a doll from her childhood. I just really, _really_ wanted her to move in at the time; the allure of a steady stream of sex was the only motivator I had and I guess maybe I was a little too harsh in convincing her.

 _ **WHAM!**_

"Ow! What the – Gabriel, what the fuck!?" He hit me! The sonovabitch hit me, right in the back of the head!

He rolled his eyes before shooting me a glare. "Calm down, Mary, it was just a slap that you _totally_ deserved. What went wrong here, Dickie?"

I glance back at Steph, frozen in some space in time before turning my attention back to Gabriel. I feel icky, queasy in my gut and almost instinctively I start to squirm. Guilt. I feel…guilt. It's an emotion so foreign to me, so unacknowledged, that it takes a minute to settle in.

When I don't answer, Gabriel sighs and closes his eyes. "Dickie," he says without opening his eyes, "I know that this is a new concept to you, but I can't do this for you. This is on _you_. This is _your_ journey, _your_ quest for self-knowledge. If you can't even decipher this one very simple memory, then we may as well call it quits now because there are a lot of other recently deceased out there who would love the chance to make things square again. Now, one last time – can you see where you began to veer off course?"

He sounds…dejected, like he's on the brink of defeat; _That_ galvanizes me into action; defeat for Gabriel meant that I'd failed, and _that_ meant my Second Chance has expired…that isn't an option, not if I wanted to achieve my own Heaven. Gritting my teeth, I take a deep breath and begin.

"I shouldn't have been so…abrupt with her."

Gabriel doesn't open his eyes, doesn't move except to deepen his frown slightly. Feeling panicky, I continue.

"I was…it was unnecessary for me to be so high handed."

Gabriel opens one eye the _tiiiiiiniest_ slit and laser-focuses in on me. I can sense the pleading in the gesture, and it undoes me.

Throwing my hands in the air, I yell, "I was a jerk! A self-centered, sex driven ass and I treated my fiancé like she was just a tool to service my needs! I didn't care about her feelings, I just figured she'd get over it in time and see that I'd been right all along!"

With a whoop, Gabriel reaches out and pulls me into a bear-hug, clapping my back.

"Now we're getting somewhere, Dickster! You've got to take ownership of your wrongdoings before you can see how you played a big part in how Stephanie's life is going today; then, and only then, can you begin to fix it. Now, we've got a lot of work ahead of us, so say goodbye to that 22 year old stomach and your old hairline and let's get cracking!"

Everyone's a comedian.

And with a wave and a shower of sparks, we're gone.

* * *

This time, we're in a hall.

I don't mean a hallway, like the one at Steph's parent's house in Chambersburg with closets holding peacoats and umbrellas for market trips on rainy days; no, this is a banquet hall. It's decorated along the lines of what you'd expect; pretty linen tablecloths and matching chair covers, lights strung and lit. There are people in gowns and tuxedos mingling and a decent band playing some instrumental holiday crap. All in all, it's nice.

I look to Gabriel, unsure of where I'm at or what I'm supposed to do. He catches my glance and gestures toward the crowd. "Move, mingle through. They can't hear you or see you. This is _your_ journey, Dickie, you've got to be the one to make the discoveries."

We set off, and to be honest I'm not sure what it is I'm trying to 'discover'. The setting is vaguely familiar but it isn't until I see 'Merry Christmas 2003' etched onto a piece of frosted glass that it hits me – my company Christmas party, the first (an only) Christmas Stephanie and I were married.

After that little discovery it's all I can do to stay upright – this whole ordeal has been a bit much to swallow, but now the Angel of Screw-Ups Past is taking me to the scene of some apparent crime I committed years ago! The whole thing just makes me so mad I can't –

 _Pain_. Blinding, white hot pain, just for an instant behind my eyes, and then it's gone. Shaking my head, I turn to Gabriel with my hands supine and my mouth hanging open.

"What was that?!" I shriek; I thought the mook said there was no pain here?!

Gabriel, the smug magoo, is just glaring at me with his arms folded over his chest. His brow is all furrowed and he looks royally pissed…at me! Me, who he just zinged and whose _brain_ he just fried!

" _That_ was a reminder, _Richard_ ," he stresses my name, still looking peeved. " _You_ are not the injured party here, and if you're going to walk around with that attitude I'd like to just call this a day and get back to my meadow."

"All right! Jeez, a guy can't have a moment's private reflection…" I'm grumbling and pissy as I stomp off, looking for whatever the Hell is supposed to enlighten me at this pretty little pit stop. It only takes me a minute before I zero in on…well, on myself.

 _Dickie is standing far too close to a female paralegal from his office, flirting covertly and enjoying it immensely. He_ _'_ _s not unhappy in his marriage, per say, but he hasn_ _'_ _t lost his taste for variety._

 _Just as Dickie is lifting the paralegal_ _'_ _s hair away from her ear to whisper something provocative to her, the crowd parts and Stephanie approaches with their drinks, looking every bit the angry wife. Stephanie has murder in her eye and Dickie, for once, makes an effort to stymie her._

 _Deftly, he pinches the paralegal_ _'_ _s earlobe and laughs far too loudly._ _"_ _There! You may want to get that backing fixed, it_ _'_ _d be a shame to lose such a pretty diamond!_ _"_ _He scolds her gently before giving her a nudge to get her moving, away from his incensed wife._

" _Earring, Dickie?! Are you serious?! You were_ _ **flirting with her!**_ _"_ _Stephanie hissed the last bit, pain evident in her voice._

 _Dickie is tired of defending his flirting. All he_ _'_ _s done the past two months is deny and try to explain away his behavior, but tonight he_ _'_ _s had enough of that. Stephanie_ _'_ _s little fit just cost him a sure thing; it was time to remind her exactly how much weight he carries in this marriage._

 _Haughty and cocky, he speaks to her in a strained and harsh voice._ _"_ _So I was flirting with the pretty assistant, so sue me! Maybe if you_ _'_ _d buy something that didn_ _'_ _t come from the_ _'_ _mom_ _'_ _section at Macy_ _'_ _s I_ _'_ _d spend more time hitting on you and less time talking to the women who put forth an effort to look_ _ **nice!**_ _"_

 _Dickie grabs his drink from his stunned wife_ _'_ _s hand, downs it in one gulp and slams the empty glass on a nearby table. He throws her a contemptuous glare before stalking away, completely missing the look of utter betrayal and heartbreak in his wife_ _'_ _s eye._

I draw in a shaky breath as the players in this scene freeze; that was harsh. That was beyond harsh, actually, and I'm more than a little ashamed of my behavior. I don't know if it's my life experiences since Stephanie, or my afterlife experiences since my death, but watching the way I treated her was painful.

Slowly, I turn to face Gabriel, barely daring to meet his eyes. He is solemn, and he stares at me with a sad expression. He inclines his head, just barely; an invitation to dissect.

I take a few more shaky breaths before I can speak. "I was a jerk…again. I dismissed St- my wife, and purposely made her feel inadequate so she wouldn't interrupt me for the rest of the night." I'm whispering at the end, surprised at the level of remorse I feel. This happened years ago, and Steph obviously got over it – why does it feel so raw?

"It's raw because you're feeling it with a new heart, Dickie." Gabriel's voice breaks my reverie. "Each revelation you make is a salve, and it heals you. It repairs what was broken in your life, and it makes you a man worthy of Redemption. Now, can you guess what this night did to Stephanie?"

I can't muster the strength to raise my voice above a whisper at this point. "No."

With a grave nod, Gabriel steps forward to take my hand.

"One more memory, I think. That should help things immensely."

As he raises his hand, before the sparks fall, I chance one last glance at Stephanie's face. Her haunted expression follows me to my next destination.

* * *

 _ **A/n: many thanks to my beta, Elaine, without whom my tense confusion would render this story illegible. I'm off to spend the next few days fishing, it'd be bitchin' to come back to lots of thought and comments, please and thank you**_


	4. Chapter 4

**_A/N: summer vacation has sucked up all of my spare time, so this chapter took a while to crank out. As always, my beta Elaine proof-read this and made me question some things and, all in all, made it more sound - thanks, doll!_**

 ** _I was really bummed when I took the FanFiction Awards survey and didn't see ANY nominations for JE FanFic! There are a lot of great stories out there now, authors I read over and over, and I didn't have the chance to nominate the best of the best. So, if you're bored, search for Proudofyoubabe, Jago-ji, WannaBeBabe, sonomom, spiffytgm...they're all excellent writers with multiple stories. Please, check out their work and leave them a nice review._**

* * *

This time, Gabriel and I appear in a place no man has dared venture. A magical, mythical arena where the presence of men is taboo and it's spoken of only in reverent whispers and held in high esteem by every male over the age of thirteen.

I'm talking, of course, about the changing room at the Quaker Bridge mall's Victoria's Secret.

For a minute, I'm frozen. I figure as soon as Gabriel realizes where he's brought me, he's going to have a regular conniption and the sparks from _this_ disappearing act are going to just about burn the place down. I chance a quick glance at him and see he's only mildly interested in the store itself, and is trying to corral me toward the last two fitting rooms in the row.

I'm resigned at this point. I've accepted that my short stint as a husband was sadly lacking, and truth be told, I'm not all that eager to see what other havoc I wreaked without knowing it. The Heavenly messenger at my back isn't so convinced I've had enough, however, and keeps prodding me along. I consider turning and slapping his hand away from my back and I no sooner finish the thought before Gabriel mutters, "Just try it, Dickie Boy, and I'll cook your goose so fast you won't be able to sit for a week."

After I roll my eyes so hard I practically see my brain, I inch forward until I hear two feminine voices talking in hushed tones. The more I focus, the more the din of the store fades out, and I know this is Gabriel's intention.

 _Stephanie sighs and says,_ _"_ _I dunno, Mare, married life isn_ _'_ _t what I thought it was going to be, you know? I thought that being married would bring us together, make us closer or better friends or something. All it seems to_ _'_ _ve done is make Dickie revert to this perpetual state of aggravation. I feel like he_ _'_ _s constantly irritated with me for not being able to cook or look a certain way_ _…_ _two weeks ago we went to dinner with his colleague_ _'_ _s and just before he opened the door for me, he said,_ _'_ _Don_ _'_ _t embarrass me tonight, just keep your mouth closed!_ _'_ _._ _"_

 _Stephanie sounds forlorn and close to tears, and her lifelong best friend picks up on it immediately._

" _Have you talked to Dickie about this, hon?_ _"_ _Mary Lou, the consummate maternal figure,does her best to help her friend navigate this crisis from the next changing room._

 _Stephanie sighs._ _"_ _I have, of course I have. Dickie just_ _…_ _he just has this way of making me_ _ **feel**_ _like I_ _'_ _m a bother. Like any feelings I have that are the least bit_ _'_ _girly_ _'_ _are a huge burden for him to bear. I thought being married would make me feel more, I don_ _'_ _t know_ _…_ _grown up? But it_ _'_ _s just like being a kid again! And I can_ _'_ _t get this stupid corset unsnapped!_ _"_

 _Stephanie_ _'_ _s upset has ratcheted up a few notches and she_ _'_ _s in tears by now. Mary Lou throws up a finger at convention and hisses,_ _"_ _Unlock your door!_ _"_ _before skirting out of her own dressing room and into Stephanie_ _'_ _s, locking the door behind her._

" _What do you mean, it_ _'_ _s like being a kid? He_ _'_ _s not like, paddling you or anything, is he?_ _"_ _Mary Lou_ _'_ _s voice is an equal mixture of disgust and anger, but she_ _'_ _s cut short by Steph_ _'_ _s mirthless laugh._

" _No, no, that_ _'_ _s not what I meant at all. It just reminds me of my dad when I was a kid. As long as I was getting along with my mother, he_ _'_ _d hang around. She was just so…so…_ _ **critical**_ _, always, and he always seemed to find some errand that needed to be run, or the car would need an oil change, every time my mom started in on me. I get it, my mom is impossible and in his day, the woman raised the children but I'd like to've felt like I was on his radar. Hell, the only other man I_ _'_ _ve been with besides Dickie thought it was too much trouble to even tell me_ _'_ _goodbye_ _'_ _before he shipped out with the Navy, Mare. I guess_ _…_ _I guess I just want a man to think,_ _'_ _Hey, she_ _'_ _s pretty okay the way she is, she_ _'_ _s worth all the trouble in the world_ _'_ _._ _"_

" _First of all,_ _"_ _Mary Lou starts as she begins unfastening the corset Steph has buckled herself into,_ _"_ _Joe Morelli is a doorknob. He_ _'_ _s scum. He_ _'_ _s a Morelli, Steph, and you know what that means. Maybe you didn_ _'_ _t when you were six, or when you were sixteen, but_ _ **now**_ _you know._ _"_

 _Stephanie only sniffles in reply._

" _Second, your father is a puppet. Your mother has her hand jammed straight up his ass and he only says Helen-approved sentences._ _"_

" _Mary Lou!_ _"_ _Stephanie is trying to sound admonishing but her giggles reveal the glee at ML_ _'_ _s statement._

" _And third_ _…_ _you_ _ **are**_ _worth it. You_ _'_ _re worth every bit of trouble you bring, Stephanie Plum, because you are so wonderful and so vivacious, and if Dickie can_ _'_ _t see that then we_ _'_ _ll just have to head out west and have a torrid affair with Johnny Depp._ _"_

 _The two women sniffle and giggle for a few moments longer before the lights in the room begin to dim._

As I stand in the dark, the room is completely quiet and dim. I'm awash with guilt, acutely aware of the way I failed the woman I vowed to uphold. Stephanie definitely made my life miserable after our marriage failed, but I was the one who fired the killing shot. I was the one who treated my wife as though she were dispensable.

"It was my fault," I whisper, testing the words out. They feel foreign, benign on my tongue. I can sense Gabriel nearby, watching me, so I try again. Clearing my throat, I say again, louder, "It was my fault."

"There was fault on both sides, Dickie. Accepting your role is a start, but think – think about your mission, about what you have to accomplish." Gabriel's voice is solemn, thoughtful, and it gives me pause. The room starts to lighten and I can just begin to make out Gabriel's form; we're back in his meadow, and it looks like a new day is dawning around me.

I know my voice is halting, but I've always done my best strategizing out loud. "I have to 'make amends' to Stephanie…for cheating on her?" A quick glance at Gabriel's miniscule frown tells me that I'm wrong. I can almost _feel_ him prodding me along, encouraging me to think deeper.

I roll the three memories around in my head a minute, muttering to myself. "…told her she'd never fly…never be Wonder woman….the flirting and the cheating….and then Frank was so nonconfrontational…"

I've always considered myself a sharp guy – you can't be in bed with as many lowlifes as I was and be slow on the uptake, you know? And it's taking me a few minutes, but I can see a pattern emerging. My burst of excitement at my discovery is quashed almost immediately.

"I undermined her self-esteem," I murmur, letting my stream of conscious take over. "I made her second guess her self-worth…actually, I _reinforced_ that belief. It was already alive and taking root…first her father, then Joe…we taught Stephanie that she was more trouble than she was worth...that she wasn't worth sticking around for." I raise my hand to my mouth and start chewing on my cuticles, a nervous habit I thought I'd left at law school. "But it's more than that, isn't it, Angel?" A quick glance at Gabriel confirms my suspicion, but unfortunately I'm out of ideas.

A few more minutes of mulling and I throw my hands out. I'm completely frustrated, and I can't think of another avenue to pursue. I say as much to Gabriel.

"I don't get it! I mean, I get _some_ of it – I was a louse, I understand my part in damaging her valuation, but it turned out okay for her! She's dating two guys, and not to sound gay or anything, but they're not ugly. I think Steph's done all right for herself."

Gabriel's shaking his head before I'm even finished, and he looks disappointed…but there's something else there, too. Excitement? Could this mean I'm closer than I thought?

"You _are_ close, Dickie." He sounds eager, happy even. "You're on the right track, you just need a _liiiiiittle_ push!" And with a wave and a flare, we're gone.

* * *

This time, we come to in an office space. It's a place I've never been, so I take a minute to look around and take it all in.

It seems typical; one desk, holding a computer and various piles of manila folders with labels on them, and a calendar with today's date on it (well, I guess it's today's date. It's the day I died, anyhow). There's also a small mountain of different nail polish bottles, so I'm assuming the desk belongs to a woman. A low, imitation leather couch is parked near the glass door, and a fake potted plant is wedged between a door that I presume leads to an office and a row of file cabinets. All in all, it's unimpressive and pretty generic.

I turn to question Gabriel when I notice a woman approaching the door. I frown, trying to remember her; she looks familiar, but then again, in Chambersburg **everyone** is familiar.

She unlocks the door, deactivates the alarm and makes her way around to the desk chair. She moves like a lady who's worn high heels all her life, fluidly, almost like they're a part of her being now. Her hair is black and sprayed high within an inch of it's life, and her makeup is Jersey Perfect – that is to say, it's caked on and expertly blended. Still, I'm having trouble placing her…

The phone rings, jarring me out of my musings. Gabriel stands silently beside me, alternately watching the woman and then me. I sense that he's more interested in my realization than anything, but I know better than to ask him anything. He's made it clear, this is a journey I need to forge, and I'm surprised to find I'm starting to feel a sense of pride in that.

The woman reaches for the phone and lifts the receiver, tucking it neatly between her shoulder and jaw while reaching for a bottle of blood-red nail polish. "Vincent Plum Bail Bonds, Connie speaking," she says, her inflection making it clear that she'd rather be anywhere else.

Shit. Plum Bail Bonds…this is where Stephanie works. I shoot a glare at Gabriel, waiting for an explanation. He just grins and rocks back on his heels, shrugging unapologetically while Connie speaks to her caller.

I know Vinnie, of course. He runs just outside my circle, and all the lawyers know all the bondsmen. Vinnie was, for a brief time, part of my married family, but all that aside…you tend to be aware of the biggest pervert in the state of New Jersey.

Just as Connie was finishing her call, the door whooshed open and a hurricane of fuchsia and spandex comes storming in. Oh, crap, _this_ broad I recognized. She's Stephanie's loudmouth friend, partner, whatever. She was with Stephanie when she stole the clock her aunt gave us as a wedding gift from my office (along with a certain special key I needed in order to access 41 million dollars). What was her name? Something silly, Lilly, Layla…

Connie seems surprised to see her as she interrupts my thoughts. "Lula!" _That_ _'_ _s_ it! I turn to Gabriel to gauge his reaction. He was staring at the woman in a kind of horrified fascination, his mouth slightly agape and his eyes round as half dollars. "What are you doing here so early? What's wrong?" Connie asks, screwing the lid onto her polish and uncapping the bottle of topcoat.

Lula stomps over to the desk and slings a white bakery bag down before reaching in and hooking two jelly donuts and one bearclaw with a single swipe. She gives a huff and eyes Connie before saying, "Why there gotta be something wrong? This _is_ when we open, right?"

Connie rolls her eyes and begins blowing on her wet nails, eyeing the bakery bag. "Oh, please, like you'd ever be in this early if you weren't dying to gossip."

Lula grunts and swishes over to the couch, shoving half a jelly donut into her mouth before tumbling onto the cushions. The couch gives a soft groan, and I can almost hear Gabriel's cringe as we wait to see if the couch holds. When it doesn't collapse, Lula speaks around the donut crammed into her mouth.

"Yeah, well. I _did_ have some news to share with you, but maybe now I'm not feelin' so talkative. Maybe since you was all haughty I'mma mind my own business."

I roll my eyes again and catch Gabriel doing the same. Women, amiright?

After a few more minutes of back and forth, Lula finally leans forward and fixes her stare on Connie before speaking.

"This is confidential, right? I mean, we need to keep this between the two of us until we can figure out what we need to do."

After Connie makes the universal sign sealing her lips and throwing away the key, Lula begins.

"So I was out with Steph last night; Chevy's has them good drink specials on Thursday, you know?" After Connie nods, she continues. "Anyhoo, we get to talking about Supercop and all and that skinny white girl tells me she's been considering a 'new line of work' lately!"

Connie gasps as though she's thoroughly scandalized, and Lula nods soberly. I glance at Gabriel, confused – so she's switching professions. Big deal, right? I mean, it's happened before. I don't get the upset. I return my attention to the conversation taking place, knowing that I need to hear this to work out my Mission.

By now, Lula is nodding vigorously and with more than a little anger building. "Seems Supercop has been taking a new approach; Steph says he's been calm and rational, and he 'actually has some good points' as to why she's not cut out to be a bounty hunter." Connie snorts and rolls her eyes, and Lula leans forward, farts loudly, and waves her arms. Gabriel looks horrified.

"'Scuse me. I know! That's what I told her! I said, 'Listen, you might be just a skinny ass white girl with almost no ability to dress, but you're a damn fine bounty hunter!' and she just kind of played it off like it was a job anybody could do. She asked me if I wanted her to train me to do it!"

"What'd you say?" Connie asks.

"I told her, Hell no! I ain't about to get shot at and thrown in the trash, I got a image to uphold and shoes that can't get ruined! But she _can_ get throwed in the garbage on account of Batman always coming to the rescue, but that might've been the wrong thing to say 'cuz that's when she got all teary."

Connie's eyes widen marginally, along with my own. "Stephanie _cried_?" I wasn't with Steph for as long as I was without learning a few things about her: she likes taking risks, she's passionate in every facet of her life, and the woman is a frickin' robot when it comes to feeling sad. Pissed, sure. Happy, you bet. But I don't ever recall her crying, not once in all the time we were together.

Lula simply shrugs, lets another loud fart loose and leans back as she finishes off the remainder of her last donut. "She wasn't _crying_ -crying, but she was all glassy eyed and used a napkin to soak them up before she made a mess of her mascara. She said she can't keep depending on Ranger for the things that Joe wants to provide." Now both women were sneering, looking thoroughly displeased at the thought.

I shoot Gabriel a perplexed look; admittedly, I'm a dog, but I can understand Morelli's thinking. What man wants his woman's needs being met by another man? I'm pretty confused by now, so I tune back in to the conversation.

Connie is delicately tearing her donut into bite-sized pieces, still mindful of her nails as she chews on her bottom lip. Finally, she muses, "Stephanie _wants_ Ranger, but she's under the impression _he_ doesn't want _her_ so it's like she's clinging to Joe. It's so…weird, ya know? Like she got the idea in her head somewhere along the way that she had to make concessions for a man to keep him." The women shake their heads, lamenting their fallen sister, while I inwardly cringe. I think I've got a pretty good idea who planted that idea in Steph's head.

Lula shrugs and adds, "I wish there was some way we could talk to Batman about this, but the man don't talk! Can you imagine trying to talk about Ranger's private life _with Ranger?_ " She shudders, and I barely suppress my own shiver. I've only dealt with him a few times, but Lula is right – no way would that guy ever be open to discussing his personal life with these broads.

Connie chimes in, "One glare and I'd wet myself. Hell, one of those blank stares he gives and I'd probably need a fresh set. The man has a body built for sin but he's scary as Hell."

The girls continue talking but I'm no longer paying attention; my mind is racing. I can see, very clearly, what my Mission objective should be now…the question is, how do I get Batman to fall for Wonder Woman?


	5. Chapter 5

I'm still deep in thought when it occurs to me that we're no longer in the bonds office. I became aware by degrees that I was sitting rather than standing, and that the couch I now rested on was some cheap synthetic fiber and not the shiny faux leather of Vinnie's shop. It took me a moment to register the cheap, shitty second-hand table and easy chair, the TV that was far too small for a living room, the mismatched throw pillows…huh? What fresh Hell was this?

I stand abruptly, throwing my arms out, ready to pinwheel them for balance…but the sensation of being off-kilter never comes. Strange. I tuck that away to ponder later and take a quick look around.

It takes me all of three seconds to determine that I'm in someone's crappy apartment; who's remains to be seen. I wander into the kitchen and see that it's not decorated with any of the cute little towels or containers that women seem to obsess over – a guy's apartment, then. College kid, by the Spartan appearance of the place. A peek in the fridge seems to support that theory (three beers, a half-empty loaf of bread and a jar of olives alongside a small bag of peeled carrots). I close the door and turn to ask Gabriel whose apartment we're in, and only then do I realize I haven't seen him since I came to on our Mystery Guest's couch.

"Gabriel! Hey, Gabriel, you in here?" I do my utmost to ignore the small tendril of panic that flurries in my gut as I head for the two closed doors. One is a bathroom (empty) and the second is a small bedroom (also empty). Blowing out a deep breath, I sit in the old wingback chair that rests in the corner of the room facing the unmade bed. The panic is swelling, building…but it's also not. I'm scared, but it's a muted scared. In an odd way, I'm comforted; no way the Big Man Upstairs would bring me this far just to abandon me. This has to be another leg of my journey.

I take a few cleansing breaths and push myself upright on legs that should, by rights, be shaky but aren't. Hmm. Another tidbit to file away for future examination. I forge on, toward the closet, and my jaw drops when I open it. I was _definitely_ wrong on the frat boy guess.

Inside, crammed to the absolute hilt, are ladies clothes – but not just any clothes, oh no. On the left are modest, everyday pieces; her t-shirts, her jeans, blouses appropriate for dinner with the parents and a few cute Sunday go-to-meeting dresses. The appropriate shoes lay beneath them, paired up and waiting patiently to be slipped on and worn out. On the right hangs the stuff of dreams – slinky, sexy dresses and tops in every fabric and cut droop lazily on padded hangers, their careless appearance belying their intended purpose. A few pairs of artfully ripped, strategically faded pants and short-shorts are pinned to their respective hanger, and all of this hovers a few feet above a dozen or so pairs of sky high, sexy as sin stilettos. I feel, actually _feel_ my mouth go dry and my brain short circuit. The identity of my hostess is suddenly _way_ more interesting a mystery to solve.

I spend another five or so minutes knocking around and trying to acclimate myself to Gabriel's absence. I know he hasn't been a fixture in my life…afterlife…whatever, for long, but he's been the compass I've steered this course by and I find the void he left unsettling.

My musings are interrupted by the sound of keys being inserted and rattled around in the deadbolt at the apartment's door, and I focus my attention on that. I'm really, _really_ looking forward to seeing who the owner of those hot little numbers in the closet is.

It often happens in life that the idea of something is much more appealing than the reality. Ever buy a treat from the ice cream man based on the pictures he posts on his truck? Spongebob never looks like Spongebob, the red, white, and blue icee is always a glob of melded purples and pinks, and the little minx I had pictured in those slinky dresses was, of course, my ex-wife.

She comes into the apartment in a flurry of shopping bags and a lone plastic grocery store bag. She has her keys in her hand, her phone clamped between her shoulder and her ear, and is talking tirelessly on her cell.

"I know, Mare, it's unreal! I mean sure, I hated his stinking, rat-bastard guts, but I _was_ married to the guy and now he's _dead_." This piqued my interest, because so far as I knew, I was the only former rat-bastard, currently dead guy she'd been married to. I guess the news of my death had gotten out already. I'd expect nothing less of the Chambersburg Gossip Chain, truthfully.

"It's awful, Mary Lou!….yeah, that's what I'd heard, hit by a delivery truck from Neiman's …I didn't know they delivered, either! Must've been some high profile client, I guess…."

I roll my eyes and huff; of _course_ the fact that Neiman Marcus was out making a delivery was more interesting to Steph than my death. Yeesh. A guy can't catch a break.

Stephanie fishes the grocery bag from the pile on the floor and makes her way to her kitchen to put away the bottle of wine, pack of cubed cheese and sleeve of crackers she bought. I groan and wipe my hand across my face; where was the fruit! The vegetables! There wasn't so much as a Slim Jim to substitute for meat in her diet; I _saw_ the dresses she was wearing, but how she managed to fit into them, I have no clue.

She's nodding along to whatever her friend is saying, absently picking at her flaking nail polish before she continues.

"I know! How awful, the last thing he bought was a sex toy!...a bag full!? Cripes, what did he need that for?...Ew! Mary Lou! That's terrible to say about a dead man!" I groan again and squeeze my eyes shut. Thank God I'm dead or I'd have to kill myself. No way would I ever be able to show my face in Trenton again after _that_ friggin' mess.

By now, she's made her way to her lumpy couch and flops down, still holding her phone to her ear.

"Who will pay for the funeral?...no, his parents are dead and he hadn't spoken to his brother in years, some sort of falling out….how sad, to be dead and not have any people to come take care of things….how much does a funeral cost, anyway?...I wonder if I could find some other people to pitch in, maybe we could cover it….I know, I know, but the guy couldn't have been all bad, ML. Everyone deserves to rest in peace. I can't afford the whole thing, but maybe some of the lawyers he worked with could help…"

It's a blow, right square to the center of my chest. I was an ass and a terrible husband on my best day to this woman, my little retrospectum with Gabriel had shown me that. Not a soul would blame her for celebrating my fall, especially considering the circumstances, but she still maintains the simple human decency that I myself lacked. It's humbling. It also reaffirms the fact that I need to give my best effort to this Mission. It's no longer just my key to Eternal Peace; now it's my parting gift to Stephanie Plum.

As I'm musing, she murmurs a goodbye to her friend and disconnects, only to immediately make another call. Her posture changes for this one; unlike the comfortable slouch she adopted when talking to Mary Lou, this caller got a picture-perfect pose. Stephanie's back was straight, her shoulders squared and her legs were crossed at the ankles. More telling was the expression on her face; her eyes were sparkling and a tiny smile pulled at the corners of her lips. Intrigued, I leaned forward to see what this call would reveal to me.

Stephanie's smile widened fractionally before she said, "Yo, yourself." Her voice was softer, more husky than it'd been when she was chatting up her girlfriend a moment ago, so it was easy to guess that she was speaking to a man. But which man?

"I got your message. What time do you need me?" she murmured, dropping her eyes to her knees. She began to pick at pieces of imaginary lint as her smile increased. "And what type of woman is Mr. Bates into?" A blush, sweet and chaste, colored her neck and rose up to her cheeks as her grin turned into a full blown smile, and for a split second I remembered exactly why I wanted to marry the girl on the couch before me. She was breathtaking.

"See you at nine. Bye, Ranger," she said on an exhale, ending the call and flopping backward with the same face-splitting grin. Ah, Ranger. The starry eyed look she's sporting suddenly makes sense. According to her co-workers, this is the man she's crazy about, and he also happens to be the one thing keeping me from my own happily ever after. And just like that, Stephanie Plum moves from Crazy Ex-Wife to Allied Force. Though she's not aware of it just yet, we've got a common goal in a roundabout way – to incite Ranger Manoso to pull his head out of his ass and make Stephanie a happy woman, thereby making my admission to Heaven a sure thing.

My attention is jerked back into the present as Stephanie shifts her position on the couch and reaches for her phone. The goofy, besotted look she was wearing was replaced with a grimace and her former perky posture was abandoned in favor of a decidedly defeated slump. Hmmm. This should be interesting.

She dials and waits only a moment for an answer; I can tell by her sigh that she was hoping to catch their voicemail. She speaks, shooting for cheerfulness that is clearly forced.

"Hey, Joe," she begins, "I wanted to catch you before you got too busy. I'm going to have to beg off dinner with your mother tonight, I got called into work." Her expression goes from wary to flat-out pissed in the span of two seconds as she snaps, "Really? Considering you said exactly the same thing to me last week, I figured it was perfectly acceptable…yes, I understand that you had to work, and I would hope you'd understand that _I_ have to work tonight!...that's just the thing, Joe, we _talked_ about me finding another line of work, I didn't _agree_ to it…well, maybe I'm waiting for you to show me a good reason why I should change my life to accommodate what you want!"

She's ranting now, and the arm flying around as she rages is all too familiar; I guess some things never change, and Stephanie's temper is still as hot as ever. I managed to piss her off quite a few times during our short relationship, and I don't envy Morelli right now.

With a vicious, "Yeah, you too!" she ends the call with a vicious finger-stab and drops the phone on the couch. She stands there, breathing heavy through gritted teeth for approximately 3 seconds before she snatches her throw pillow, presses it over her face, and screams into it. When she's finished, she looks decidedly less homicidal but still plenty angry as she marches into her kitchen and snatches a beer from her refrigerator. She drains it in three long swallows, deposits the bottle in the trash can, and stomps off toward her bedroom. I follow (because really, what else do I have to do right now?) and watch with some curiosity as she flops down on her bed, spread-eagle, and throws an arm over her face. She's asleep in less than five minutes.

I make my way back toward her small living room, chewing over what I just witnessed. If I didn't already have a clear picture before of her relationship with these two men, I sure do now. I've also discarded any lingering doubts about playing matchmaker; I can't see a scenario where my ex-wife is going to end up happy with Joe Morelli. I owe it to Stephanie to see this mission through, and I owe it to myself to do it in a big way.

I've got the initiative and the will to get this operation underway now…but where the frig is that Angel?!

"Gabriel!" I stage whisper, poking my head into Steph's kitchenette. "Hey, Gabriel!" I stand dumbly in Stephanie's small foyer, mulling over what to do next. I decide to take a quick stab at Gabriel's sparkly wave and I'm not surprised when nothing happens (though I am mildly disappointed). Deciding to try a different tack, I close my eyes and attempt to concentrate on the Meadow, hoping that will transport me or signal my Angel to swing in for a pickup.

I stand there, eyes screwed shut in concentration for what seems like an age before I hear a quiet snort. I peek, only to see Gabriel standing in front of me, obviously trying to suppress laughter. When he notices me looking, he abandons his efforts at covertness and openly starts laughing at me.

"Well, that's nice!" I snap, throwing my arms up in frustration. "I'm sitting here, practically deserted with no way to reach you and you're having a laugh at my expense! What kind of guide are you!?"

He waves a hand in my direction but can't answer yet; the sonovabitch is still laughing at me. Finally, after he sucks in a breath, he wheezes at me, "Sorry, Dickie, but you standing there looking like Helen Keller having a wet dream just about killed me!" And he's off again, this time holding his stomach and practically folded in half.

I wait for him to catch his breath (because really, what's my other option?) and flip him a double bird when he finally looks up. That sets him off again, though he manages to pull himself together relatively quickly, and with a cheeky grin and a wink, he waves us out of Steph's apartment.

* * *

We come to under the big tree in Gabriel's Heaven, and the clear sky dotted with white clouds that I've become accustomed to here hovers over us. I turn to my host, eager to get started.

"I'm ready," I begin, "but I'm not sure what the next step is. I see what needs to happen, Angel, and I'm ready to work it out, but…well, what can I do? Can I manipulate a situation? Like…do I lock them in a cabin, alone, and snow them in?"

With a snort and an eye roll, Gabriel shakes his head at me. "It's not a romance novel, Dickie," he chides me. He's poking fun, but there's an undeniable undertone of pride in his voice, too. It tells me that I'm on the right path, despite my poor first attempt at matchmaking.

He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees before he begins. "You can manipulate _some_ things," he begins, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. "Electronics are easy, paperwork is even easier, and you have _some_ influence on a person's instincts."

I frown, considering what he's saying. "So…I can use her phone, her text messages, her calendar, stuff like that?" He nods, and I continue before he can speak. I'm excited, and it shows in my voice. "And paperwork…invoices, appointment books, those kinds of things?" His grin widens and he nods again, prompting me along by asking, "And the instincts…?"

"I….uh, I guess I'm not sure what that means," I admit, deflating a bit, but Gabriel waves my ire off. "What it means for us is that we can use a person's natural wariness or caution to nudge them in the right direction. If you see your Subject walking into a dangerous situation, for instance, you can sort of spike that innate instinct they already possess and help them avoid it. Conversely, you can use existing feelings of affection or possessiveness to incite a stronger than normal reaction in a person." He's all business now, explaining the power he – _**we**_ – can wield to get my Mission accomplished. And in a strange way, what he's saying makes perfect sense to me.

"I can enhance a feeling to help my cause, but I can't manufacture it if it's not already there," is the conclusion I reach, and judging by the beaming smile I'm hit with, I'm right on the money.

"Bingo, Dickie Boy! You get to work with what's already there, but you can't play Cupid. Now, you've reached a stage of Enlightenment that allows me to grant you certain privileges, and that includes the stuff we just discussed. You'll also be able to transport yourself, but use discretion – the Father frowns upon the Ethereal poofing themselves into the locker room at the gym." He's standing and making a show of pulling me to my feet and positioning me just so before what he's saying hits me.

"Wait, you're not coming with me?" I'm panicked, and why not – I've only _just_ died and now my Angel is sending me on a quest that will determine whether or not I'm eligible for Heaven _alone_! And if that's not the single most bizarre and confusing thought I've ever had, I'll eat Gabriel's hat.

Gabriel, the smug magoo, just smiles and shakes his head in a fond manner before he answers me. "'Fraid not, Dickie. My job is to prepare you to do your job, and I've done that. You can handle it from here, and you've got the tools to do it now. Remember, this is _your_ mission…and just between you and me, I think you're going to knock it out of the park."

His vote of confidence bolsters my own, and I give Gabriel a single nod of understanding. A man has to forge his own way, and it's time I forged mine. My bravado is mostly a show, but it'll do no good to protest so I don't.

Gabriel knows my fear without me speaking on it (doesn't he always?) and says, in a conversational tone, "You can call me, you know – if you need help, if you're in a bind, you can call on me to help you. Just don't overuse it, because it won't work every time. It's pretty discretionary, actually, and if He decides you can do it alone, I can't show up. But I'm rooting for you, Dickie, and remember – God gave you this chance because He wants to see you succeed."

That helps me immensely. I feel my spine straighten itself, and I draw a deep breath into my lungs. I meet Gabriel's eyes squarely and extend my hand to him, offering my firmest handshake.

"Thank you, Gabriel, for everything." He grasps my hand and we shake; it's the first handshake of my adult life that feels genuine, rife with respect and appreciation, and not just a conversation opener or closer. I feel a brief tinge of regret, a feeling that I wasted a lot of life on meaningless handshakes with meaningless people, before I discard it and refocus. I release Gabriel's hand, take a step back and wave my arm in an arc above my head, and in a shower of sparks I'm gone.

* * *

 _ **It's been a long time between chapters, and I have a poor excuse - it's summer vacation and summer in the Midwest has been unbelievably cool and cloudy. This happens once a decade, maybe, so we've been on the go and enjoying the nearby city attractions. I'm committed to sticking with this (I die a tiny death each time a story is abandoned) so cut me some slack until school is back in session.**_

 _ **And this is completely off topic, but is anyone else absolutely stoked to read 'Go Set A Watchman' on Tuesday?! It's going to be THE literary event of our lifetime, people - I'm gagging for it!**_


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